


Brokered

by turingtestflunker



Series: Checks and Balances [4]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Biting, Cunnilingus, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Held Down, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Multi, Power Imbalance, Shame kink, Size Difference, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, implied Leo McGary/Jed Bartlet/Abby Bartlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-12 05:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5654146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turingtestflunker/pseuds/turingtestflunker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set right after "2162 Votes". Josh hates lots of things, but not Matt and Helen Santos. CW for really heavy verbal humiliation/abuse. Mostly unbeta-ed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Referendum](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4120507) by [Theobule (Saathi1013)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saathi1013/pseuds/Theobule). 



> No porn in this chapter, just Josh being a little ball of burning omnidirectional hatred. Also, Leo sees through your bullshit.

Josh Lyman fucking hates the Democratic Party. All forty three million of them. It shouldn’t be possible to personally despise that many people, but just like goddamn Santa Claus, Josh finds a way. He reserves a special place of burning enmity for the five thousand odd stubborn, stupid, short sighted, unrepresentative, self important bastards who gather every four years and call the resulting festival of idiocy the Democratic National Convention. Given that Josh is a lifelong Democratic political operative, you might think that this would present a contradiction. It does, but it’s a contradiction that he resolves tidily by hating Republicans more.

Fortunately, even a stopped clock is right twice a day. Somehow this confederacy of dunces has managed to pick the right guy. Even if it took arguably the best convention speech in a century and a borderline suicidally risky political maneuver on Santos’s part and what felt like several years of cajoling, berating and threatening every goddamn piddling, pathetic excuse for a Democratic delegate on Josh’s.  It’s a motherfucking miracle. Josh knows he should be grateful. He knows that candidates like Bartlet and Santos are only supposed to come around once in a generation, men who can win and should, and that by the grace of whoever from high atop the thing it’s happened for Josh twice. Josh isn’t good at gratitude.

Maybe he’ll be grateful in the morning, when his eyes don’t feel like they’re full of sand, when his hands stop shaking, when his whole body stops hurting. He would tally up how many hours of sleep he got in the last five days, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know the answer. He probably won’t sleep tonight: wound too tight, turning all the contingencies over in his head. He’d like to try anyway. But before he can go back to his room and stare at the ceiling for five hours, he has to do...this. 

Half the convention must be in the Santoses’ suite. It’s a ridiculous crush of bodies, most of whom have been useless or actively detrimental to the project of putting Matt Santos in the Oval Office. They’re all celebrating like they’re personally responsible for Santos’s nomination. Josh wants to scream at them, he’s been doing a lot of that lately, but if they’re here it means the campaign needs them. Their money, their time, or their good name. They’re here because Santos wants to make them feel important. The congressman and his wife are holding court in the middle of the room. Leo is circulating with practiced ease, he’s always been so good at this. But they can’t talk to everyone, not if they want to be done before the motorcade leaves tomorrow morning. 

Josh is Congressman Santos’s campaign manager. If they win this thing, he’ll be Santos’s chief of staff. This is part of his job now. Awkwardly, he begins to work the room. Mostly he just apes what he’s seen Leo do. It seems to be enough. People smile, they laugh, they trickle out of the room satisfied that they’ve been  _ properly acknowledged _ . He gets a cold beer from somewhere, carries it around the room. He doesn’t drink. Josh knows he wouldn’t be able to stop, would end up either passing out on the floor from sheer exhaustion or actually ripping someone’s throat out. 

He’s struck by a wave of nostalgia for the Bartlet campaign. When he didn’t have to deal with this shit. When he could wheel and deal and plot and scheme in the background. When he didn’t have to smile at people. When he could drink with the useful people in the hotel bar, with Donna. Josh saw her go back to her room a couple of hours ago. She’s probably already asleep. Donna can put things down in a way that Josh just can’t. She’s always been smarter than him. How many years did he spend, terrified that she’d figure that out? Now she has, and… and…

He’s drawn to the center of the room by some mysterious gravitational force.  Leo’s already there, helping the Santoses butter up… someone. The crowd has dwindled, leaving only the most self-important pricks. The ones that think they’re entitled to more than a slap on the back and five minutes of small talk. Josh really could rip someone’s throat out. Congressman Santos might even be pleased with him. Most of these rich bastards have written the DNC into their wills. It would be the best of both worlds, all the money, none of the bullshit.

Josh can guess what’s supposed to happen now. He’s supposed to join Matt, Helen and Leo. Together they will attempt to charm a series of prolapsed assholes masquerading as political activists: thank them for their support, listen to their anecdotes and pretend to give a shit about their ideas for the campaign. Make them feel  _ special _ . But the thing is, Leo, Matt and Helen are doing just fine without him. Adding Josh Lyman to the conversation would almost certainly make everything worse. Really, he’d be doing everyone a favor, staying out of it. Maybe he can just stand here and wait for it to be over. The last asshole would… do whatever it was assholes do when it’s time for them to get the fuck out. Matt and Leo would slap him on the back, Helen would hug him. Then Josh could go.

He has a theory. He thinks there’s a sweet spot to be found, an amount he can drink that will let him finally get some fucking sleep without making him a useless pile of shit in the morning. He’s spent the better part of a career looking for it. Tonight seems like a good night to continue the search. It’s a beautiful plan, but it’s not to be, because Leo, that annoyingly perceptive son of a bitch has spotted him and is giving Josh an unmistakable look of  _ get your ass over here and do your damn job _ . It’s kind of depressing how well Josh knows that look. He wishes that he and Leo didn’t know each other so well, wishes that he had some scrap of plausible deniability and could pretend he didn’t know what Leo meant. But they do, and he doesn’t, so he goes. Leo might not be his boss anymore, but in six months he could be the Vice President of the United States and even if Leo was friendless, unemployed and dead Josh wouldn’t want to cross him.

“Josh!” Leo calls out as Josh approaches, with a kind of manic enthusiasm. Too much shitty campaign coffee? Bullshit fatigue? The fact that he’s been nominated for VP more or less against his will finally getting to him? Too many things it could be, and no way to suss it out right now. Anyway, Josh has only ever really been good at figuring out what Leo wants him to  _ do _ . 

That part’s easy. Josh plasters a smile on his face and slaps Leo on the back “Hey, Leo do you know what Daniel Webster said when Zachary Taylor asked him to be vice president?”

Leo rolls his eyes theatrically, “Yes, Josh, but I’m sure you’ll tell us all anyway”

Josh presses on. Unfunny jokes no one wants to hear are basically his  _ thing, _ “He said, ‘I do not propose to be buried until I am dead’”

Everyone laughs except Leo, who tries to make his glare at Josh melodramatic and affectionate, for their audience. He mostly succeeds. Josh raises his drink, “To Leo, for taking one for the team”

Josh pretends to take a long swig from his beer, hoping no one will notice that he’s not actually drinking. The toast gives him time to assess his target. A large pile of campaign donations in potentia from Arkansas. An influential businessman and his activist wife. For the life of him, Josh can’t remember either of their names, but he knows exactly when and how he’s going to spend their money and the buttons he needs to push to make them hand it over.

He’s laying out a plan of attack when Helen raises her glass. She’s drinking champagne, because of course she is, and she’s barely touched it, because of course she hasn’t. Jesus Christ he loves that woman, “And to you Josh, the man of the hour.”

“To Josh” Matt echoes, leaving Leo and the cash pile from Arkansas no choice but to follow suit. Matt puts an arm around Josh’s shoulders, and his grip must look looser than it is, because Josh is pinned tightly to the congressman’s side, “Let me tell you a story about Josh…”

Santos is talking, but Josh isn’t listening, because Matt’s fingers are digging into Josh’s arm and Helen is smiling at him, harsher and hungrier than the smile she’s been using on the other party guests. Josh knows what they’re doing. They know he’s terrible at this, so they’re taking him out of the game, turning him into a prop. It keeps him from fucking things up and makes Mr. and Mrs. Arkansas think they’re getting an inside scoop on the campaign. It’s smart. It’s business, and Josh should be able to play along like a fucking professional, but it’s all he can do to keep breathing and try not to blush like a schoolgirl as Matt heaps praise on his head. 

Normally Josh accepts adoration of all kinds as no less than his due, but with the Santoses, it’s different. Except for when he really, really doesn’t, Josh hates it. Hates feeling clumsy and awkward around them. Hates feeling small and weak under Matt’s arm or Helen’s gaze. It’s a liability in more ways than one. Goddamnit, he’s done it again, Matt’s finished talking and someone’s asked him a question and he has no fucking idea what either of them said.

“Huh?” he says, and tries to pass it off with a laugh, “Sorry, I’ve had a hell of week” 

Everyone laughs with him, and Mr. Arkansas says “I hope you don’t feel as bad as you look, Lyman, because you look like shit” 

Josh stares at him for a second, before he remembers to laugh. He gestures to Matt with his free arm. His breath catches in his throat when he realizes his range of motion is limited.  _ Okay, might as well try to make it work for me _ , “Yeah, well, you can blame these two, they’re doing their level best to kill me” 

“ _I’m_ trying to kill _you_ , Josh? Have you seen the schedule your people gave me for next week?” and then Matt is off on his _campaigning is hard, guys_ spiel. It was kind of cute the first few dozen times Josh heard it, but by this point it’s white noise. Leo is looking at him, and Josh has no idea what he means. There’s no command associated with that look. Josh knows he’s probably missing something important. Maybe Leo will explain later.

Helen links arms with Matt. Josh can feel her movements through Matt’s body. He tries not to shiver. 

“Speaking of which  _ honey,  _ I’m about ready to turn in. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow” Helen says, and Josh is frozen to the spot. He can feel Matt tense up too, she’s never used  _ that  _ particular petname in public before.

“...Yeah that’s a good idea” Matt says, a couple seconds too late. He lets go of Josh and pretends to yawn. 

Josh is staring at them. They  _ can't  _ mean. That would be  _ colossally  _ stupid. They’re standing in what is perhaps the biggest and densest assemblage of nosy assholes with axes to grind in the known universe. It’s too risky. Santos is going to be, needs to be, has to be, the fucking president. It’s not worth it.  _ Josh  _ isn’t worth it.  But Helen is holding his gaze and Matt is giving him a minute nod and  _ apparently this is happening _ . 

Helen is already on her way out, saying last minute thanks and goodbyes as she goes. Leo has wandered off to console the leftovers. He’ll probably be here another couple of hours. He’s going to kill himself if he keeps working this hard. Matt is leaning in close to Josh, and for an absurd second Josh thinks Matt is going to kiss him right there in front of everyone.

“Josh… uh, I need to talk to you about that ad buy in Ohio later. Is that okay?” Josh could almost laugh. Matt is adorable when he’s trying to be subtle, and of course he’d check in to make sure. Josh is an oblivious wreck of a human being, miscommunication is always a possibility, and Santos is such a good man it makes Josh’s heart ache. Of course he’d check. 

Josh looks Matt in the eye when he says, “Yes, Congressman, that’ll be fine” 

“Good” Santos says. He lays a hand on Josh’s shoulder for a second before he goes.  

Hanging back is torture, but Josh won’t let the Santoses be seen with him in the halls at three o'clock in the morning. He counts out the seconds in his head. Josh knows exactly how fast his candidate walks, with and without Helen. He has to, to plan events properly.  _ 55, 56, 57, 58, 59… _ If Matt was alone, that’d be enough of a head start.  _ Damn you and your short legs, Helen!  _ _ 69, 70, 71...  _ Even though Elvis and Priscilla have left the building, there are still a few people hanging around the suite; the kind of sick motherfuckers who actually  _ enjoy  _ Conventions.  Leo is holding most of them at bay, but a few are wandering around the room and eyeing him. Josh keeps counting and tries to look as unapproachable as possible. That part’s not hard. 

_ 92, 93, 94.  _ There’s a hand on his shoulder and it surprises him enough that he jumps, when he turns around it’s Leo, with his hands up in a conciliatory gesture, looking concerned. 

“Oh shit, I’m sorry. I… was thinking about something else” Josh says.  _ 109, 110, 111.  _ He could go now. He wouldn’t catch up with them. A two minute delay provides a thin layer of deniability at best, but he’d take it. 

“Yeah, I bet you were” Leo says, he’s giving Josh that look again, “Are you okay, kid?”

_ 121, 122, 123. Dear God in heaven, what does he want from me?  _ Of all the times to have a heart to heart about the rigors of the campaign, Leo just had to pick  _ now _ . 

“Yeah, yeah” Josh says, trying desperately not to sound like the dearest wish of his heart is for this conversation to be over, “I’m fine. I’ve handled worse. Remember ‘98?”

Leo snorts derisively, “I  _ do  _ remember ‘98. It wasn’t  _ nearly  _ this bad. This is quite a roller coaster you’ve strapped yourself into”

Josh laughs, a bit louder than he intended to, because Leo doesn’t know the  _ half  _ of it. 

Leo is looking at him again. Another tangle Josh can’t seem to unwind. There’s concern… and embarrassment? Maybe. Josh is too tired for this shit. 

“You’re good at this, Josh” Leo says, and that is  _ fucking weird _ . Leo is not the praising type, “You know, you don’t have to do everything my way. Doing this job doesn’t have to mean doing all the things I did”

What on earth is he talking about? The way he copied Leo when he was talking to the donors earlier? No, Leo knows that’s the only way Josh knows how to talk to those people without causing a capital ‘I’ Incident. The Santoses are probably at his door by now. Or maybe they’re already in Josh’s room, waiting for him.  He remembers the first time he gave Matt his room key…  _ If this conversation isn’t over in the next fifteen seconds, I swear I’m gonna make a run for it.  _

“Uh… I’m mean, I know I drink too much” Josh gestures awkwardly to his beer, “But who doesn’t, in this line of work? There’s nothing about my life that’s exactly  _ healthy  _ but I’ve got things under control, you know?”

Leo gives him another look. Josh knows this one, it’s classic  _ Josh, you’re a complete and total dumbass and God only knows why I bother with you _ . So he’s missed something important, what else is new?

“Yeah, so, uh, thanks but, if you don’t mind I’ve got to go. The congressman needs to talk to me about…” what was the pretext again? “... a thing in Ohio”

“Uh huh” Leo says, and this has been the weirdest conversation of Josh’s life, even counting seven years of Big Block of Cheese days, but he’s not going to think about it right now because he’s already out the door and on his way to get fucked by the next President and First Lady of the United States. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rejoice, for I come bringing porn. Also, CW for heavy verbal abuse. My beta suggested I tag it as "erotic nihilism"

Josh doesn’t run, because he doesn’t have a good explanation for why he’d be running to his own room at three o’clock in the morning, but he certainly walks faster than he would if he if he was actually on his way to a discussion about a media buy in Ohio. The elevator takes forever to arrive and he has to share it with some drunken and dispirited Russell partisans who’ll probably be on his doorstep begging for work in a couple of weeks. He tries not to fidget. If Josh had a higher opinion of himself, he’d be embarrassed by how badly he wants what’s about to happen. 

Josh gets off on his floor and walks the rest of the way to his room as slowly as he can stand, as if it doesn’t matter, as if no one’s waiting for him. The Santoses have propped his door open a crack to let him know they’re there. Josh’s breath catches in his throat, he still can’t quite believe that this thing he has with them is real. 

Josh steps through the door. Before he can think, Matt has him by the scruff of the neck and is pushing the door closed. 

“Do you remember your word?” Matt asks, his voice so low it’s nearly a growl. 

Josh groans at the sound. Matt grasps his neck tighter and shakes him roughly, “Your word, Josh”

“A-akron… my word is Akron” he gasps. They’ve barely touched him, but he’s already starting to lose his words.

“Do you need to use it?” Matt asks. 

“No” 

Matt is on him in an instant. Pulling, tugging, unfastening. One by one, Josh’s clothes fall into a pile on the floor until he is completely exposed. He shoves Josh further into the room. Helen is sitting on his bed, she looks at him hungrily and it’s as if she can see right through him. His whole face burns with embarrassment. He’s been hard since Helen said ‘honey’ and the attention isn’t helping. They can see. They can both see what this does to him. That he likes it. That he wants them, needs them to take him apart. He closes his eyes and lets out a long broken moan.

Matt shoves him face first into the nearest wall, Josh brings his arm up just in time to save himself from a bloody nose. He feels the impact in his bones. 

“What are we going to do with you Josh?” Matt whispers harshly before laying down a blistering trail of bites and scratches down Josh’s back. 

A thousand smart-ass retorts rise up and are silenced as the congressman starts going back over his work, kissing and sucking the marks his teeth have left. Josh bites down on his own hand to muffle his cries. He very much does not want anyone to get concerned and come check on him.

Matt threads a hand through Josh’s hair and pulls his head back hard, “I asked you a fucking question, you piece of shit!”

Josh’s words are nearly gone, but he tries, “...gonna… gonna use me”. He knows his voice is slurred, he sounds like he’s drunk. He likes the idea of that, being drunk on Matt and Helen.

“That’s right, sweetie” Helen says, as if she’s praising a precocious first grader, “Bring him over here, honey, it’s my turn to have him first”

Matt frog-marches him across the room and shoves him onto his knees. As if Josh wouldn’t have gone willingly. As if he can’t even do  _ that  _ right. Josh’s cock twitches at the thought. He’s kneeling between Helen’s legs. She’s sliding her pantyhose and underwear down her legs. Josh would help her, but he knows he’s not allowed. Right now, there’s only one thing he’s good for. His mouth is already watering.

“Hold him for me, honey” Helen drawls.

Matt crouches behind him and wraps his arms around Josh’s and pulls them up and back between them. Josh’s shoulders cry out in protest.  _ That  _ is going to hurt in the morning. He whimpers as his face is shoved into Helen’s pussy. He opens his mouth and begins to lick and suck. This he can do. He’s gotten very good at this. The Santoses have given him plenty of opportunities to practice. Desperately swallowing the congressman’s cock in a sordid succession of haphazard nooks of privacy, kneeling between Helen’s legs in a thousand aggressively unmemorable hotel rooms. 

Soon enough, they fall into a rhythm. Matt holds him in place while Helen fucks his face. Josh mostly focuses on getting enough air. He can’t move, he can’t pull away, he can’t talk. He is drowning in the taste and smell of her. There’s nothing about this that Josh doesn’t love. Helen’s thrusts intensify. Her hands are in Josh’s hair too, now. He feels as if he might break, like they’re pulling him apart. It’s perfect.

Helen comes with a long gasping moan, squeezing his head tightly between her thighs. Josh thrusts helplessly into the air. Slowly, carefully, they let him go. Hands untangle from his hair. Matt lets go of his arms, which fall back into their normal position with a slightly worrying creak. Josh rests his head on Helen’s knee and pants.

Helen tilts his head up to look at her, “Good boy, such a good boy with such a good mouth” she runs her thumb gently across Josh’s lower lip. He tries to turn away, but she won’t let him. He sobs softly. God, he’s so pathetic.

“It’s okay sweetie, you’re okay” she’s stroking his cheek, her touch burns “But you’re not done yet, are you?”

Josh shakes his head dumbly

Matt's hands are on his shoulders, "Come on" 

He helps Josh to his feet and draws him in for a bruising kiss. Josh knows that his mouth must still taste of Helen. His dick is pressed against Matt’s thigh. The material is coarse, scratchy, the friction just this side of painful. Josh’s hips buck uncontrollably. He knows from experience that he can come like this.

Matt doesn’t give him the chance, he pushes him backwards onto the bed with a growled “Goddamnit, Josh”

Helen moves out of their way, settling into a sitting position near Josh’s head, looking down at him. Josh squeezes his eyes shut and tries to focus on breathing. He hears Matt rummaging in the nightstand, hears him unbuckling his belt.

He feels Helen’s hot breath on his ear when she whispers, “You know what comes next don’t you, Joshua?”

Josh nods and lets out a broken sob. He can’t answer, he’s too far gone.

He hates that, hates that he can’t even ask for this properly. Matt is on the bed, looming over him. Matt preps him, quick and efficient, while Helen cradles his head. Josh feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin. He’s still crying. He can’t make himself stop. He hears the crinkle of a foil packet and a groan as Matt slides on the condom. Helen places a hand firmly across his mouth a split second before her husband slides into him.

Matt is whispering harshly in his ear, “Been thinking about this all week. Watching you. You never stop, you know that? Have you even fucking sat down? It’d be cute if it wasn’t so fucked up.”

Josh screams into Helen’s hand, breathing fast through his nose. He thinks he hears Matt chuckle just as he begins to fuck Josh in earnest.

“You won’t be able to do this forever, you know” Matt’s voice has lowered to a growl, “You’ll burn out, and what will you be good for then?”

The words hit him like bullets. Josh feels as if he’s being driven into the bed, disappearing beneath them. He is intensely grateful for Helen’s hand muffling all of the sounds he can’t hold back. Tears are streaming down his face. She’s stroking his hair and leaning down to whisper in his other ear. Josh flinches, bracing himself for more.

“You’ll still be good for this, sweetie.” she whispers, and it’s the most perversely comforting thing Josh has ever heard.

He leans into her touch. Matt reaches down and lays an uncharacteristically gentle hand on Josh’s face. Josh goes limp. He closes his eyes, if anything he’s crying more now. 

He doesn’t last long. They’ve been teasing him for hours. He’s been needing this for days. He opens his eyes, before he comes. Matt and Helen are above him, looking down at him. They’re all he can see. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that everyone who who enjoyed the snarky humor and Josh-teasing in Chapter 1 also enjoyed sinning with me here in Chapter 2. Chapter 3 will probably be significantly shorter, just aftercare and tying up some loose ends. I'd skip it, but at this point **I** need the aftercare.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished. This part is unbetaed, so forgive the errors I may have missed. Also, burrito!Josh is my new aesthetic.

It ends as abruptly as it always does. As soon as Josh comes, Helen is in motion: off the bed, rummaging for something in her purse, rustling in the bathroom. Matt finishes quickly and pulls out, disposes of the condom and flops down on the bed beside him. He wraps an arm around Josh. Josh flinches at first, his body still expecting more… but then Matt is rubbing small, gentle circles into his back, carefully avoiding the bruises and bitemarks he left. Josh relaxes and settles into the half-hug, resting his head on Santos’s chest. 

“Hi, Josh” Matt says, squeezing him gently “How’re you doing?”

Josh’s words still haven’t quite come back, so he just groans his contentment. Matt strokes his hair. 

Helen is back with her bag of tricks: warm washcloths, bottles of water and a first aid kit. Josh’s love for her is boundless.

“Matt, I think you broke him” Helen says lightly.

“Nah, Josh is tougher than that” Matt chuckles, and there’s an undercurrent of nervousness there that warms Josh’s heart.

Is it wrong that he likes how guilty they seem after, how they worry about him? Is it wrong that this is his favorite part? Matt and Helen are even better at putting him back together than they are at taking him apart. Matt helps Josh sit up and Helen hands them both washcloths and bottles of water. Josh downs his in three long gulps. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. When was the last time he drank something that wasn’t coffee or alcohol? Matt always makes him drink water on the plane, which is quite possibly the only reason Josh is still alive.

Matt dabs at the bite marks on Josh’s back. The skin is broken in a few places, but mostly bruised. He uses alcohol swabs AND antibacterial ointment, which Josh wants to tell him is redundant, and absolutely plasters Josh’s back with those big square band aids Helen carries in her purse. 

Josh’s voice creaks awkwardly back into action, “Thank you”

“No,” Helen leans down and kisses Josh on the forehead, “thank you”

Matt finishes up with Josh’s back, “You. Sleep. Now.” 

Dimly, it occurs to Josh that he could mock Santos for talking like a caveman. But then Matt would say that he was only stooping to Josh’s level and… the train of thought fizzles out. Josh is desperately tired, and he’s recently had the fight thoroughly fucked out of him, so he lets them wrap him in blankets like an absurd man burrito. The Santoses lay Josh down on his back and settle in on either side of him. 

“Josh, I like you. Helen likes you. We both really like you, alot” Matt says.

Josh groans, do they have to do this every time?

“We’re very grateful for everything you do for us” Helen adds

“...and we’d still like you even if you weren’t a freakish campaign wizard” Matt finishes

“God save me from your Catholic guilt!” Josh says, he tries to pull his arm free of the blanket for a melodramatic gesture, but finds that he can’t: they’ve wound the blankets too tight.

“Seriously?” he asks, “After all that, you tied me up so that you could say nice things about me and cuddle me against my will? Really?”

Matt pulls him closer, “Yup” he sounds ridiculously proud of himself

“You’re diabolical” Josh mutters

Helen kisses him on the cheek, “We know. Now go to sleep”

Matt reaches over to turn out the light. Josh does as he’s told and falls asleep in their arms.

***  
6:00 am. Josh nearly rolls out of the bed trying to turn off the alarm clock. The Santoses could’ve loosened up this cocoon thing before they left, but no. Josh does eventually manage to squirm out of their fiendish burrito bondage. He doesn’t want to speculate about how ridiculous he must’ve looked doing it. He feels… not good, he can barely remember what “good” felt like, but better. He didn’t get enough sleep. No one who’s doing their job gets enough sleep on the campaign trail, but he did get some sleep. Some honest to god, eyes closed, not contemplating the political ruination of Arnold Vinnick or cataloguing the incompetence of his staff, sleep. He hasn’t slept like that since… well, since the last time.

Josh gets out of bed and stretches his arms experimentally. His shoulders are sore, but everything seems to be in working order. A good thing too, what on earth would he tell a doctor? The truth? Doctor/patient confidentiality or not, _that_ would leak. He uses the bathroom mirror to look at the ridiculous number of band aids Santos put on his back. He always does that. Josh sort of understands the reasoning. Matt wants to cover it up, make things normal again. Josh thinks it has the opposite effect, makes it look worse than it is, like he’s been attacked by a crocodile rather than a congressman. He lets them soak off in the shower. Helen left a small stack of fresh ones on the bathroom counter, because of course she did. After drying off, Josh reapplies a more reasonable number. He gets dressed and shoves the rest of them in his pocket on the way out. 

On his way to the motorcade, Josh acquires an excessively large cup of coffee with so much sugar in it that it probably technically counts as breakfast and as if by magic, a gaggle of semi-useful people accumulates around him. They press an endless series of papers into his hands, many of which Josh will actually have to read at some point. He’ll also probably have to talk to some of his minions, but that’s going to take waaaay more caffeine than he currently has on board.

His flock merges with Leo’s in the dingy service corridor they’re using to get their people out of the hotel. Leo’s on the phone. He gives Josh one of his gentler _wait a minute, would you_ gestures when Josh tries to say something. That means it must be… Josh runs a quick tally of the people that Leo thinks are more important than Josh and comes up with a longer list than he’d hoped. 

“No sir, that probably wouldn’t be a good idea” Leo says, chuckling. _Sir_ , that means the President.

At some point, Josh should probably talk to Leo in a setting that doesn’t include thirteen of the top twenty donors to the DNC. Does Leo know? After that trainwreck of a conversation last night, he probably knows something’s up. Maybe he thinks Josh has a thing with Helen, which is sorta true. The whole situation probably wouldn’t even occur to the older man. 

The President’s voice is loud enough for him to make out now, a volume surge from Leo’s shitty phone’s shitty speakers. Josh really should get him to replace that thing.

Josh thinks he hears, “I know history is meant to rhyme, but that seems excessive”

“Yes, sir,” Leo is smiling the way he only does when he’s talking to Jed or Abby, “But you know what they say; the more things change the more they stay the same”

Josh doesn’t hear the President’s response, but he does hear Leo wrapping up the call, “Yes sir, of course sir… What are you, my mother?”

Leo hangs up the phone and puts it in his pocket. He looks at Josh, “Good luck, kid. You’ll need it”

Josh is once again overtaken by the feeling that he’s missing something big and important. Before he can ask, Leo is gone. On his way to get in a car, which will take him to a plane, which will fly him god knows where. Probably Arkansas, Josh bets those assholes from last night conned him into making an appearance in fucking Arkansas. Josh shakes his head and looks down at the pile of papers in his hands. It’s growing at an alarming rate. You’d think that people would run out of things to hand him. Dear God, he has so much work to do

_Okay, Lyman_ , Josh thinks to himself, _time to get out there and elect yourself a president._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of this fic. I may write more in this universe if people are interested. Let me know if there's an aspect of this timeline you'd like me to explore.


End file.
